Climb Your Mountain: Child Abuse Survivors Do - An Essay

On my way to a place where I could begin my journey towards making my childhood dream a reality, I climbed Picacho Peak. For some this isn't much of a mountain, but for others it's a mountain equal to any.

I climbed it when I was nearing 50. Alone. Recently divorced. All I knew and had been left behind in California. Living in my car with no place to go, no reason to bother, no time but the present, I wandered and wondered my way around Arizona. I'd always been so scared of heights that being on the second floor of the mall triggered anxiety attacks if I even looked over at the railing so just being camped there on the side of Picacho at the state park was challenge enough for me. But I stared at the mountain for a few days...decided I should just try... didn't see where I had anything to lose. The mountain was there. I was there. Seemed like reason enough.

Early one morning I told the Ranger to take care of my dog and call my daughter if I didn't make it back and set out! Fools rush in.... so the day wore on, food and water ran out, hands bloodied from grabbing any rock or bush or whatever to keep pulling myself up one step at a time, exhaustion like nothing I've ever experienced wrapped around me like some security blanket. All numbed my mind.

Worst was coming to a sheer rock wall that had to be scaled with the help of metal cables that had been installed for those crazy enough to pull themselves up to keep going. Terror like you wouldn't believe. I was never a physical kind of person. Had no idea how to use the cables. Managed it somehow. Then with each step forward I thought, gee I don't know how close I am to the top...what if I quit now? Sounds so simple...NOT!

I kept on though and made it to the top. Small flat space. Awesome view, to say the least. There is a mailbox up there, with pencils and notebook. I rested, read and added my comment. I felt powerful for a moment! But knew I couldn't linger...I had to get down and sure didn't want to be doing that in the dark! Well, call me stupid or just plain ignorant from lack of experience...but I didn't realize going down was worse than anything I could ever imagine. Going up was easy in the sense of not looking down! And trust me I didn't after the first time! But going down means looking down most of the time... so I cried as I slipped, slid, skittered and baby-butted my way. Finally I felt like there was nothing left...I'd just give up, die right there and not give a damn. I sat overlooking a hidden valley. Silence so heavy you wouldn't believe! Cried like you wouldn't believe. Curled into a ball as tightly as we used to do to minimize the pain of Dad kicking us around like a ball. I didn't care. Nothing mattered.

Then a voice! No...not God...well who knows? Anyway out of nowhere this man appeared...a Native American...He asked, "You make it to the top?" I nodded. "You okay?" I nodded. "I thought so. You'll make it down." I looked into this really beautiful, old face looking down at me. No judgment. No pity. No disgust at this stupid woman. No laughing at me. Nothing but quiet reassurance. "I don't feel like I can," I said. "But I know you can," he said. "I climb this mountain every day." With that he smiled, turned and RAN off down the mountain.

And the moral of the story is? ...I climbed a mountain and thought that would mean I wouldn't be afraid of heights anymore! WRONG! Didn't work that way at all. But I learned to manage my fears better. So it is... with a little encouragement we all can keep on keeping on!